


Inhuman

by SlashyUnicorn



Category: DCU, Doctor Who (2005), Man of Steel (2013), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Romance, Strenght Differences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashyUnicorn/pseuds/SlashyUnicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are called Superman. Ridiculous name.”</p><p>“I know. Thanks.”</p><p>----------------</p><p>“Always wondered why I never meet soulmate. Turns out he is not even human. Perhaps you are right. I am a monster."</p><p>-----------------</p><p>In which Clark became tired of humanity's shit and decided to start anew. While collecting gorgeous art pieces and becoming a spy. Because why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhuman

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally planned this to be a 2k fanfic. But then this clusterfuck monstrosity came to be. Enjoy.

Jor-El and Lara Van-El wrapped their newly born child in his blanket, so innocent and happy in his first day of life. Sorrow in their eyes, as they looked at the child’s soul mark. It was already tinted red. If only he had another Kyrptonian as his soulmate like other child…..

No matter. If that was the case they will also be dead by the time he reached the other planet. 

Although, as Jor-El gave a quick glance at his son’s soul marks, a symbol of unfamiliar gun and what appeared to be a time device never before seen in Krypton, he wondered. 

What kind of person his son’s soulmate was. If he was a good man, or woman, who suited his son well.

But as he heard the voices of Zod’s soldier, he was quick to give a kiss to his child, and launched him on the spacecraft. Praying to Rao to protect his son on his journey.

\----------------------------------------------

Jonathan and Martha Kent can never have children. The doctor had told them to give up. And they did, right until they found the little bundle, arriving at their farm from the space. They named him Clark, after Martha’s family name. He was such good child; he charmed them, the first time he opened his blue-grey eyes. They didn’t care that their child might not be of Earth.

It was when they were about to change his clothes that they discover his soul mark, symbolizing the late Soviet Union flag. 

They gave their son a pitying look, as their baby boy will never meet his soulmate.

\----------------------------------------------

Clark realized his preference, or more likely no preference, at early age. He liked girls, yeah. It was just he liked boys as well. He looked it up in his school library, secretly, of course. He found out that he could be a bisexual or pansexual. He was distressed by it. Him and his family, he knew men liking other men weren’t widely acceptable right here. More so than other places.

A few boys found out about his soul mark, red and dead, he thought bitterly. His parents told early what they meant and under no circumstances that he went to Russia to find out anything about his soulmate until they say that he was ready. The boys also found out his orientation through one of them tricking him, as this boy, Justin, realized Clark’s crush on him. They beat him up. It didn’t hurt, physically. But in his heart, it did.

His father told him it didn’t matter. He can love anybody that he wants. As long as he didn’t fight back those bullies. The world wasn’t ready for him.

\----------------------------------------------

His father died. And Clark travel.

\----------------------------------------------

There was this girl, reporter, following him everywhere. Reckless of any danger she might face. Clark avoided her as much as he can. He didn’t need another person to die, another casualty because of him.

Still. She followed him. He didn’t get her devotion. What did she expect of him? He wasn’t a god.

\----------------------------------------------

He found his real father, Jor-El, on an abandoned space ship, or what was left of him. An AI, instead of the real, living body. He was told about his power, and more importantly….

The fact that he was practically immortal. 

He wondered what kind of thing he did in his previous live to be burdened with this fate. He took the suit, and became the man that people need.

\----------------------------------------------

The girl, Lois Lane, was a blank. No soul mark anywhere in her body, she said. Many people on Earth were blessed by this luck, with them complaining they didn’t get to have someone truly made for them. They didn’t know how it was such a burden.

They kissed, once, and Clark said his goodbye.

\----------------------------------------------

After, she insisted they became friends. Clark reluctantly agreed. She was, after all, kind enough not to reveal his secret. He worked at her newspaper office now, The Daily Planets, headed by an emotional man who was never satisfied with his news.

Superman, they called him.

\----------------------------------------------

The first time he met the Doctor was on Planet Janus Prime, as ironic as it was. He always considered Janus to be his favorite of all the Roman gods, with him being a child of two worlds, reading all mythology books he could find on it. The Doctor, and his companion, a girl with short blond hair, were dealing with a war between rival humans colonializing the area. And him, well, he was in the middle of fighting Darkseid when the hulking guy just teleported him to this planet, which was actually a pretty genius plan, considering how red the giant star in this constellation was. 

He was just a normal, powerless man now. He tried everything, from his laser eyes, super strength (and really, _ow._ It hurts when his fist collide with a rock a size of a child), and even jumping around to try to fly. It was this time he met them, staring at him with puzzled look, definitely thinking that he was a lunatic.

“What are you doing?”

The girl beside him held him back. “Doctor, he’s clearly mad. Don’t talk to him.” She said, in a chiding way, clearly used to the reckless way her friend interacted. 

He knew this man, call it a curiosity of finding other extraterrestrial being in Planet Earth, with him riffling through Torchwood and U.N.I.T.S archives for clues (their security was shit). Thankfully he was one of the nice guys, or, as nice as an old alien with a powerful time device can be. That was good, since the Doctor was almost immortal with his ability to regenerate many times. He definitely didn’t need any more immortal enemy. 

The Doctor recognized him after a closer examination. “Oh it’s you, Clark! Good to see you, mate.”

Clark frowned, “Doctor, right?” he asked. Technically, he never met him, so it didn’t hurt to ask. It might do him good to make a friend in here, since he was as powerless as a baby. The Doctor might know him from all over the news, but it seemed unlikely, since he knew his identity as a human and talk to him like an old friend. 

The Doctor facepalmed himself. “Ah, yes, apologize. Sorry, sorry, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff and all that. You haven’t met me yet. That’s obvious.”

“Right. And the lady over there is…?”

“Sam. Samantha Jones. And no, I’m not the Doctor’s soulmate, before you ask.” Clearly from the irritated way she talked to him that she was tired of that question already. She still looked at him as if he was crazy, but he can’t blame her since he wore a tight skin suit and a cape. In the middle of dessert planet.

Since she already heard what the Doctor said before, he saw no harm in introducing his real name. “Clark Kent. But, ah, please don’t call me that in case you meet me on Earth.”

She gave him confused look, and the Doctor whispered in her ear, all Clark could pick up was ‘superhero secret identity’ and ‘superman’. It was uncomfortable, not having any of his power. He spent his whole life resenting it, but now that he needed it, if failed him spectacularly. She directed a wide-eyed stare at him, filled with awe. Another fan, perhaps.

A clap from the Doctor’s hands snapped them out of the awkward introduction. “Now that we’re done with the introduction, it’s time to find out what’s going on in this planet.” With cheery voice, he led them all over the planet, confident in his stride. Which was when it all turned to the worse and they had to spend the entirety of their stay in the planet cleaning up the problem in it. 

After the situation settled in, the Doctor turned to face him and said, “Do you need a ride? I could probably pop you out in Kansas,” he looked at his watch. “In time for a meeting with the Winchesters too. Pop in, pop out. What do you say?”

And this was it. He could use this opportunity to start anew, if the Doctor agreed. Getting away from his heavy responsibility on Earth. “Could you bring me to the period of Ancient Greece? Or Ancient Rome?”

The look that the Doctor gave him was surprised and wary. “You don’t want that, mate. They really, really love to party and fights among each other and their hygiene too, ugh. The sixties are better, right? How about it?”

“I prefer Ancient Greece and Rome, since I always wanted to go to there. How it feels to live between the worshiper of ancient gods.” He willed the Doctor to understand. “The sixties were great, but I might meet my parents so that’s a no.” he didn’t want to chance changing his future.

At the Doctor’s frown, he said. “I know what’s at stake; I won’t do anything you won’t do.”

“Even _I_ did a lot of crazy thing in my lifetime.”

“Anything you won’t do that will cause time rift, then.”

“You won’t know. You’re not a Time Lord.” He pointed out.

“Doctor.” He was close to begging on his knees, he knew. But this chance will never come again if he let it go.

He could see the Doctor beginning to waver. “And your soulmate is—”

“Dead.” The Doctor tilted his head, as if considering something. He suppose with the Doctor knowing him more than he knew the other gave him an advantage of knowing his past. He knew the Doctor won’t answer any of his questions if he asked, though. 

He glanced at his soul mark, a watch and a sniper rifle gun, arranged to cross as if to look similarly like an old Soviet Union flag. He researched both, of course. The watch’s brand was _Pobeda_ or Victory, a famous brand chosen by Stalin in 1945 for victory celebration. The sniper rifle was SVD Dragunov. He read somewhere that it was so good; they still use it since 1963. He never actually used a gun and didn’t like to kill if not necessary, especially with it but when he read about the gun online, about its recoil and bullets, somehow he liked it, and had an urge to use it. 

All this pointed out that his soulmate might be a devoted Russian soldier, or Russian fanatics. He frowned. What would they do when they met him? Would they kill him on site for being a too powerful alien? Would they sneer in disgust, him being a male and wanting to have romantic relationship with them? Would they give him a disappointed look because he wasn’t the mate that they want? All scenarios led to bad things happening and he didn’t want to think about it. Alas; didn’t matter anymore. Because his soulmate was dead. Red filling the gaps between the guns and watch.

“You’d left your mother alone?”

“I’ll be back before she knows it. I’ll walk back the time.”

“You know,” Doctor leaned on the door of the TARDIS. “if you’ll walk back the time, you’re still going to meet your parents.”

Clark was pretty desperate by now. “I’ll have more experience of not meddling with history then. Doctor, _please._ ”

Doctor put his arms up, a sign he was giving up. Which means he was always meant to do this. He was pretty sure the Doctor won’t let anyone hitched up with him to the past. “Alright. Good god, Clark, you’re pretty persistent when you want something. Up you go then.” 

He got into the TARDIS (which turned out to be bigger on the inside. Curious.), and it whirred for a moment. The Doctor gestured to the door and sure enough, they were now on the market, people walked back and forth in ancient clothes and togas. He was given a pheasant clothes and robe to blend in, and a small satchel containing small amounts of gold coins. How the Doctor had this ready, he didn’t know. 

Before he stepped back, Doctor gave him a signet ring. It was made from a metal, but not the one you could find on Earth. When he asked why the Doctor replied with. “You’ll understand the significance. For now, just let it be a symbol of both of your life.” 

He supposed he could also take it for his new life, as Janus was the god of beginnings, and transition. But he was also a god of endings, what endings Clark didn’t know yet. Was it old life? 

Clark doubted that.

\----------------------------------------------

Ancient Greece (and Rome) turned out to be a complete chaotic spiral of partying, politics, and sex. But for the first time, he felt freedom. 

As the time went on, he began to notice a pattern. Every couple of decades or so after his new soul mark appeared, it will turn red, filled with ‘blood’ of his soulmate. He couldn’t even feel the despair any more, with events happening too often to linger on it. And then, the new cycle began. Each time, the symbol was different. 

The first soul mark he had faded when he first arrived, since his soulmate probably wasn’t even born yet. In its place, right below his left collarbone, on top of his heart, a book, filled with triangle. 

_Could it be….Archimedes?_

He didn’t believe it. There was a chance that soulmate might be the great mathematician himself. He knew he should’ve restrained himself for searching and meeting him, he was going to die in a few years anyway but he couldn’t help it. 

After the first disaster, when he finally reached Archimedes place, but instead was informed that the man was dead, pointed out to his tomb, a sphere and cylinder on top of it, he promised himself. 

No more.

But the fleshes are weak. And the heart wants what it wants.

\----------------------------------------------

His old mark disappeared, and on 100 BC a new one popped out. A mark of an elephant wearing a wreath and a toga. He was travelling in Germania (which would become German in the future) and his time with the Greeks and Romans had loosened his attitude, with their party and lewd affair.

Of course he didn’t understand what the mark meant, but when the news of Julius Caesar’s death reached his ears, along with a stab of pain in his mark, he understood that his current soulmate was dead.

He had a few more soulmates after that, sometimes women, but mostly men. He tried not to approach any of them, preferring to observe from afar. He knew he should stop; each death brought a new face to his nightmares, filled with various death of the other part of his soul. Most of them differ in race, but all had one thing in common. Stubbornness.

All of his soulmates, they all had a piercing and calculating eyes. They were stubborn, and completely protective and possessive of their circle of friends, family, and possession. He was almost discovered a few times, their eyes picking up patterns of his behavior. Or maybe it was soulmate sense, sensing each other when in close proximity. But it wasn’t supposed to manifest before the half bond.

It was on 1934, five more years to the start of World War II, another of his soul mark pop out. The gun and the watch, which means that this soulmate, his first soulmate, was just being born. It was jarring seeing the soul mark like this, still pure black, not filled yet with red. He knew what was coming, but still, he chase after it.

He searched and searched for his soulmate, but by the time WWII broke out, he still hadn’t found his yet. 

\----------------------------------------------

He met a man named Jack Harkness on the field. He knew this man, this other immortal man, made like this because of the Doctor and Bad Wolf. Their eyes met and he knew the man also recognized him. They both had soul marks on their body, him with the Soviet one (which he kept as secret from his comrades and superiors, as the war raged on) and Jack’s with his teacup, filled with bullets that he recognized as .303 British, favorite hunting bullets for the Brits.

They spent the night together, against their better judgments.

\----------------------------------------------

The war damaged him in ways he didn’t think before. Not just this one. Over the years, he was involved with more war that he could count on both hands. Human’s cruelty, along with the corruption for power made him sick. He was so tired with humanity. He was considering about going to another planet (probably going to be the same, as it was all living creature’s burden, greed and corruption), but his mark made him stay. He felt something from it, something that said he should stay. This time he _must._

He changed his name to Napoleon Solo. The reason he chose ‘Solo’ was because Star Wars was one of his favorite movie of all time (but definitely not the prequel). He liked to play pretend with his dad that he was Han Solo and his dad would play the part of evil Empire’s minion. 

And Napoleon, because he was one of the person who knew Clark’s secret. 

Clark lived in Corsica in since the late 1700. At that time, a boy with brown hair and piercing eyes approached him. He was lying on a beach, shirtless, so his soul mark was free for the world to see. The boy pointed to his chest and lifted his own shirt, revealing the mark in the same place as Clark. 

They began meeting from that time. Clark had adopted the persona of Joseph Kent, American tourist who planned a more permanent stay on the island. Napoleon, as time progress, became aware of the fact that his soulmate was not aging a bit and confronted Clark. He confessed, already planning escape route once his secret was out. Instead, his one surprised him with a kiss. He was more accepting than Clark would’ve thought he would. He thought, this was _the one._

No other soulmate for him.

He was proven wrong when Napoleon began to change over the years. Paranoid of his height (and his power), he began to show aggressive behavior when people mention it. And soon enough, to Clark. They didn’t complete the bond.

Nearing his death, his whereabouts kept secret. So tight that even Clark got wind of it too late, only knowing when after he looked at the colour of the mark. Eventually he knew that his love had died in Saint Helena Island, in the west coast of Africa. His last words were "France, army, head of the army, Joséphine"

He mourned for decades, after that.

\----------------------------------------------

Hundreds of years living with party-goer like the Romans and the French made him bored about a lot of things now. He threw out his reservation, and his reluctance to do criminal activity from a long time ago (although he still didn’t like killing without reason), instead spending his time being an art collector. Yes, collector. That was more fitting, since he didn’t actually steal the antiques, he just selling them to a more appropriate people. And some of the things he got was his anyway, from the Ono no Komachi’s original poem, gifted to him from his affair with her, to Mona Lisa, inherited to him after Leonardo’s death (rest his soul).

He let the CIA caught and forced him to work for them because, again, he was bored. And it might increase his chance of meeting with his soulmate, since America had a lot of animosity with Russian. Sooner or later he might cross path with them.

And he was…right. More or less. It was more of a colliding action than meeting, both of them trying to secure Ms. Gaby Teller, a daughter of the Nazi’s scientist. He thought at first that she might be his soulmate, she was fierce enough to be, but then he saw her mark, half hidden beneath the sleeve of her overalls, a blue police box with sonic screwdriver lying horizontally bellow it. 

Interesting.

There was this man, who ran after their car as they escaped, and tore the back of it with his bare hands. At first he thought the other was one of the super humans. X-Men, maybe. But after a closer look, it seemed like he was just a very strong human.

“Pretty strong, for a human.”

“What?” Gaby said, glancing at him from the rearview mirror, confused and suspicious. And from the incredulous look the man gave him, he knew he could read his lips. _Damn, no more slip up, Clark._

“What are you waiting for? Shoot him!” The guy was trying to stop the car, so he knew he had to. But somehow...

"Somehow it just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do."

Something—something was happening because usually he had no problem killing someone if it was for a cause. He didn’t like it, but he could easily do it. Ages of experience dulling his conscience.

They ran to the building, and when they reached the car, the tall guy (a Russian?) with unexpected strength looked into his eyes with unveiled contempt and he knew, instantly.  
He was his soulmate. Now he knew why he wasn’t able to shot him.

Not just another name in his long list of soulmate (dead, but not forgotten) but this time, he _will_ stay. He didn’t know how why he thought of that. A human wasn’t made to live forever, his especially so. As his was red in his future. _He just knew._

Maybe the future changed because of his travel with the Doctor. 

\----------------------------------------------

“What was waiting for me was barely human.” It felt weird to say that since he himself wasn’t even one.

Saunders rolled his eyes, relaxing in one of Clark’s couch in his impermanent, small apartment as if it was his own. "Remind me again, Solo. How long is your prison sentence?"  
Technically zero since he could escape anytime that he liked. He was just humoring them.

When they left he sat on the dining chair, eating his risotto with Gaby. “How’s the Doctor?” After the word left his mouth he cursed his initiative. There was a chance she hadn’t met the Doctor yet. Time travel can be such a troublesome thing sometimes.

She looked at him with surprise, then attempt to school her expression. “What are you talking about?”

He gave her his easy smile. “Come on, Gaby. It doesn’t suit you to play stupid and you know it. I just want to know how he is, really.” He gave her his most genuine smile. He was just curious. It had been a long time since he last talked to the Doctor, face to face. He saw the blue box, TARDIS, from time to time, but it was always a different face that came out or got into it. He suspected it was the newly regenerated face. Or his companion. ”Don’t you get jealous, though? He travelled with a lot of beautiful companion.”

She pondered about what he said for a while and sighed, giving up to Clark’s insistence. Relief was palpable on her face, maybe because she found another soul to talk about her soulmate. “I do. But he does what he wants.”

“Why don’t you travel with him? Be his companion. Spend the rest of your life with him.”

“I did, and I want to. But he said I had a bigger role to fill. And until then…” she was playing with her hand in nervousness, head lowered in contemplation.

“So…tell me about his regeneration.” Clark leaned forward in his seat. “Eight, right?”

“Twelve.” She grinned, and they each told their story, bonded in their shared similarities of the Doctor.

\----------------------------------------------

Clark met his soulmate again in a toilet, of all places. Deserted, with only them and their superior inside. He let Illya beat him up, putting little fight. It wasn’t even hurting that much (read : at all) and the alternative was worse. Can’t let his pride kill his soulmate. Human body was so fragile, remembering those people he cannot save. 

He glanced at Illya’s hand, antique’s (for Clark) watch on his wrist. It was the same, like the one engraved his chest.

\----------------------------------------------

The American did not even put much of a fight. Oh he struggle, yes, but Illya could tell it was not done in trying to escape his punches or his lock on the neck. Did he belittle him? Thinking his strength was nothing? He remembered those words he got on the car chase. 

He will give him hell for underestimating him.

And if Illya’s chest twanged in pain, right in his soul mark, when he beat up Napoleon in the toilet, he was too distracted to feel it.

\----------------------------------------------

Clark was about to abandon his one on the lake. His soulmate will die before him anyway, whatever he did. It was better to quicken the pace, killing the connection before it fully blossomed. Toying with the idea of different timeline because of the Doctor might be a waste of time, he thought. Pessimistic because of his background.

But then he felt that pull, somehow able to feel the helplessness and fear and acceptance of his soulmate’s in his last moment despite not being bonded yet.

And it was as if his body was moving by its own.

He pulled Illya out, pressing his chest from behind while keeping both of the afloat, willing his one to breath. He could just fly out of the water, it was easier, but he wasn’t ready to admit that other part of him to anyone yet. Even to his soulmate.

Illya coughed out the water, and he was safe, in Clark’s arm, once again.

\----------------------------------------------

“What is that on your hand? The metal, it is strange.” Illya gave him a contemplated look, like was recognizing and analyzing something. But what, Clark didn’t know.

He glanced on his right hand, the Janus ring wrapped around his pinky. “Oh this? I got it from a British aristocrat when I was travelling in London. And now that I you said it, the metal _is_ strange. Almost alien.” He looked at Gaby and she giggled, both of them sharing a look.

He had ended up telling her everything about him, on her last date with the Doctor, when she asked him to come along. Illya was red-faced when they came back, screaming bloody murder about their unprofessionalism and such, even when they only gone, technically, for ten minutes (they spent those glorious ‘ten minutes’ on a green planet, fighting Sontaran’s invasion). He had a strange look on his face that Clark couldn’t guess.

Illya scowled at both of them, like a petulant child left out of the joke. “You both together. I do not like.”

“Aww, Peril, don’t be jealous. Here, let’s do a group hug.”

Illya ran before Clark and Gaby’s arm reached him. The sound of both of their laugh trailing behind him.

\----------------------------------------------

Working in the U.N.C.L.E, it turned out, not like working with the KGB. Less rules, more free roam. He had just blown up the building in front of him, in insistence of Napoleon, even though he was still inside. The American was usually not the type to sacrifice himself, and now he was dead. Illya was surrounded by ringing sound, as if he was trapped in the bubble of his own head. His body rigid and chest heaving in trying to regulate his breathing.

It was when Napoleon reappeared.

He walked out of the ruined building, his clothes full of dust, but otherwise he was as healthy as he was before he walked into the building. He gave Illya a smile, which he replied with a disbelieving look, darting back and forth between the building and Napoleon. He can’t help but running his eyes all over the other’s body for injuries, uneasiness in his chest telling him to make sure Napoleon was fine.

“Should’ve just told me if you’re interested in me, Peril.” He gave Illya a wink.

"That building fell down on you."

He just brushed the dust from his suit, walking towards their car in ease. "I know. Terrible thing. Found some hole I could crawl on."

Illya gave Napoleon a doubtful look. "You lie. I will find out why."

He raised one of his eyebrows, and then shrugged. "Suit yourself."

\----------------------------------------------

The henchman tied Napoleon’s feet to a heavy stone; hands bound in his back in thick rope, and threw him out to the sea. Illya snarled, like a wild animal, trying to set himself free to grab the last of the rope connecting Napoleon to the surface, but he was bound as well. As they were about to throw him out too, gunshots ringed all over the unused harbor, killing the remaining henchmen. Napoleon poked his head out from nearby warehouse, grinning like a mad man that he was.

"Again you got out unscathed."

"Told you. Lady Luck is on my side."

"Have nothing to do with lady luck." He gave more doubtful stare. The stone were genuinely heavy and the ropes impossible to escape to. He had firsthand experience on it.

Illya frowned. He had searched though almost all government archive he could find. Hack through almost all security database he knew. Still, all he could find on this man was only what he had known before. His background and criminal activity checked, but there was something—something more. The man was hiding something.

There were still more place to search.

\----------------------------------------------

“You’re Illya’s soulmate.”

They were sitting on the sofas in Gaby and Illya’s shared room, the Russian gone to report to Oleg, as this was another U.N.C.L.E, KGB, and CIA joint mission. And Clark should do the same. But Saunders pissed him off sometimes so now it was his turn for revenge. “I know it was futile to deny, so yes, I’m his soulmate.” He grimaced. “But I would prefer that you don’t tell him about this.”

“You want to tell him about it yourself.” She angled her head, as if in inquiry.

“I was waiting.” She urged him to continue. “For something.”

“For what?”

“Something tells me I would know, in time.” He tapped his finger on the arm of the sofa, having accidently picking up his soulmate’s nervous tick.

“The Doctor?”

“Yes.”

She made a non-committal sound, back to reading the car magazine left on the table (possibly by Illya). 

“By the way, I’m curious. How did you know?”

She gave him a smirk. “I accidently walked in on him when he changed his clothes. The mark was on his chest. It was a man with two faces, just like your ring.”

“That’s it? I mean it could be anyone. I’m not the only one who had a ring like this, believe me I checked. Even if this was from the Doctor.” 

“On top of one head there was a symbol. The word ‘S’ in a diamond shaped line. On the other head, painting of a….I think it was a farmhouse, it was hard to tell from afar.”

He wiped his face with his palm. If Gaby knew, there might be a chance that Illya knew. So that was why he asked about the ring. This was kind of troublesome as he somehow felt that the time wasn’t right. 

Not yet.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya looked at Napoleon with wide eyes, the other lifting the part of the building that blocked their exits. Moments after it, the whole building collapsed. If they did not get out on time…

He eyed Napoleon. "You accuse me of being a monster because of my strength but now that I see you lifting the concrete, you are stronger than me. Who is the real monster now?"

Napoleon made a face. "Well. That's rude.” Then he muttered, more to himself. ”Why do human _always_ confuse alien for monster." 

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Now if you would please excuse me, I need to change my suit. This one is ruined."

Illya just stood there, confused, of what was going on in this weird American soil. Whether all the people as crazy as Napoleon Solo. He had to find the real identity of Napoleon.

He decided he was searching in the wrong place.

\----------------------------------------------

“You are called Superman. Ridiculous name.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Illya found out who this man was. The records, of all places, exist in Torchwood and U.N.I.T’s archive. Both of them were busy after dealing with an alien called 456. _Alien. On Earth._ He supposed that story about America’s Area 51 and alien in London’s story were true after all.

The American’s—Kryptonian’s—real name was Clark Kent. Adopted by farmer Jonathan and Martha Kent when his spaceship crash on Earth containing a baby.

_In 1984. As in the future._

Aliens, he could handle. He always suspected there was more living beings on this galaxy than on Earth. But _time travel?_ He cannot believe this. That it was now accessible. This was ahead of his time. He had a feeling people should not discover time travel yet. But then again. Clark Kent—Napoleon Solo was not human.

He kept calling the man Napoleon, in his head, and outside. The name more familiar to him than the others. He did not know this Clark Kent. This—this alien.

“You are an alien.”

"Oh really? I didn’t know. Thanks for telling me.”

“But you are from the future.”

He hesitated. “I had a friend.”

“The Doctor, yes?”

Napoleon frowned. “How’d you know?” he had a realization. “Wait. No. Broke into Torchwood and U.N.I.T have you?” he rubbed his temple. “I told them to tighten their security. They. Never. Listened.”

“I saw Gaby in one of the picture.”

Napoleon was silent. Illya could see in his eyes he was still hiding something. 

“It’s because I’m his soulmate.” Gaby walked in.

“You never told me—“

“Why? You don’t even know anything about extraterrestrial life. We have to know if we trust you. If you tell this to your superior in Russia we all, including The Doctor, are going to be in danger.”

“Now?”

“Now we trust you.”

\----------------------------------------------

When Illya found out who he was, it was nerve-wrecking, even more to keep the sarcastic persona he adopted up front. It was his fault, really. He liked to show off and left hints for his one. He can’t help the surge of pleasure he got when the other looked at him with awe.

Illya didn’t know about the soulmate thing though. But he suspected he will. His instinct thrummed in his blood, singing to him about the moment.

Soon. 

\----------------------------------------------

They were fleeing their captor. Illya could understand when Napoleon said he didn’t want to use his power unless it was an emergency. People in this time, they will lose it. They ran on the hill full of rocks and snow, while it was snowing lightly at the start of the winter, near the border of small European country. Trying to lose the enemy.

One of the underlings threw some sort of incendiary device at Napoleon’s back and it exploded, just as they crossed the border that was unusually deserted of guards. Illya kill them all, and their body burned, for a while, their own device exploded with his calculated, precise shot.

He turned back to Napoleon as he getting up from the snow, trying to get a look of the back of his clothes and failed. Illya did it for him instead.

It was smooth.

No scar, no burned skin. Not even reddish mark.

“Unbelievable.”

“Again, thank you for stating the obvious. Now let’s go to the safe house, I’m fine with the cold, but you must be freezing right?”

Illya looked down his clothes. Just turtleneck and dark jacket. The weather did not bother him. Mother Russia was colder than this.

But as soon as they reached the safe house, a cottage in the middle of the woods, only with one bed on it, waiting for their next assignment, the snowstorm starts. They lit the fireplace; plenty of wood in the cottage, but the wooden walls of the cottage were not thick enough to hold back the winds. Some get in and soon, Illya was shivering. 

He spot Napoleon relaxing on the chair, drinking wine he got from somewhere, looking perfectly fine and warm, pretending to not notice the shiver. He was waiting for Illya to say it. 

He will _not_ lose this battle.

A few hours in, they still had not got their order, possibly because of the storm preventing the signal. And Illya was almost asleep. The cold starting to make his hands numb, and the uncomfortably small chair that do not fit his stature starting to feel comfortable enough. 

He was almost fallen down the chair when Napoleon quickly caught him. “You are,” he picked Illya, bridal style, and it was both embarrassing and unnerving. “The most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” 

It was him who usually did the heavy lifting, being taller and stronger than anybody else. Now he was lifted in another man’s arms, Napoleon’s hands careful around his shoulder and knees. It grated on Illya’s tightly controlled nerves when people were being carefully gentle around him.

He was not an _infant._

He was not _weak._

Illya struggled in his grip. 

“Put me down this instant!” at least that was he was intended to say, but instead what came out was gibberish. Weirdly enough, Napoleon seemed to understand him.

“Or what? You’ll shot me dead with your Makarov? Your bullets won’t kill me. You do know that.” 

They laid together, in bed, Napoleon hugging him while trying to strip Illya’s damp-from-snow clothes. “Stop—“

“Don’t be scared, Peril. I won’t do anything you don’t want to. Or maybe want. I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 

“Then you too.” He said, more coherent now that Napoleon’s body heat (really, really warm) starting to seep inside of him. “I will not be the only one who is naked.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes, and he complied, knowing how unrelenting Illya can be. “Fine.” But he turned back, hesitant in his unclothing process. 

“Why won’t you look at me? You are shy.”

“Nope.”

“Then why?”

“I just don’t want to. Can we just leave it at that?”

But Illya, stubborn as he was, tried to turn Napoleon back, his hand slipped on the chest and he felt a weird sensation near his mark. Napoleon went with it, body yielding to Illya’s insistence.

Then he saw the mark on Napoleon’s chest. Dragunov, his favorite gun, and his father’s watch. Arranged to look like Soviet Union’s flag. He had touched it, and now they were half bonded.

“You!—“

Before he could continue, however, their communicator beeped and they could hear Waverly’s voice. They were to stay in the cottage and get picked up by Gaby tomorrow at 07.00 sharp, and, if the snowstorm had stopped, earlier than that.

The cottage was filled with silence after that.

Illya exhale, his breath visible on the winter. He lay back down on the bed, resigning himself to be cuddled by Napoleon and the blanket, feeling warm all over already. It was cold, so he had a perfectly good reason in doing so. Something that sound suspiciously like Napoleon’s voice cackled in his head, telling him _‘excuses, excuses’._

“Always wondered why I never meet soulmate. Turns out he is not even human. Perhaps you are right. I am a monster."

Was he really such abomination, that all he could get for a soulmate was someone not of this world? But he did ask for a strong soulmate. And no one was stronger than the Superman.

He remembered the story of his mother. How she met his father. Her soul mark was on her palm and he saw it, touching hers with his in a soft handshake. They immediately do the full bond then, giving a drop of their blood on each mark. The bond changed and become full of colour.

She cut herself often on her palm, after his father’s death.

Napoleon saw the faraway, wary look. He hesitated, only for a moment, and said "if you think you're a monster then let’s be monster together.” Kissing Illya’s forehead with gentleness, surprising him. “We'll be unstoppable. We can show that to the world." He tried to kiss him again, this time on the lips. 

Something struck Illya’s mind.

“You knew, all this time.” He gave Napoleon the accusing glare.

The other sighs in defeat. “Yes.”

“And yet you did not say anything. Why?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Of having me as soulmate?” Illya barks a depreciative laugh. He knew it. 

Napoleon frowned. “No. Never.” He hides his face for a while, on the nook of Illya’s neck. His breath tickling the skin and making Illya shuddered.

“You know I’m from the future right?” a nod from Illya and he continued. “What you don’t know, is, how far back I went back, to reach this point in time.” 

Wide eyes staring back at Napoleon’s calm one. “You did not.”

“Yes, in fact, I did.”

“How far?” Now Illya was curious.

“Ancient Greece.” He answered easily.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You are—“ he clenched his fist. “—Immortal.”

“Yep. Well, more or less. I’m not invincible.”

They laid there in silence for a while so Illya could digest the information. “And then?”

“I had soulmates, after—or before. Cause I had your mark at first, then it fades first time I arrived in the past and it surfaced again when you were born.”

Illya frowned. “Basically you are a pedophile.”

“Hey! Don’t say it like that.” He made a face.

“How old are you when I was born?”

“…about two thousand years.”

“Then you are a pedophile.”

He pouted, then shook his head. “Are you gonna listen to me right now?”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“So basically I had a lot of soulmates. Who, um, died. Over the years. I don’t want you to be another name in my list of dead soulmate.” His look was melancholy and somber.

“I will not.”

“How do you know? You’re mortal; you’ll die in a few decades. Quicker, maybe, in our line of work.”

“Just know. Trust me.” Illya was determined, and convinced (or trying to convince himself) that this was true. _Will_ be true.

Napoleon murmured. “I do trust you.”

“Now. Tell me about your past soulmates. Who were they?”

“You don’t want to know. Really.” Hugging his hips, Napoleon tried to hide his face again, but Illya will not have that.

“I want. Now tell.”

“Alright, let us start with….Archimedes.” Illya gave him a disbelieving look.

Neither of them mention of going full bond.

\----------------------------------------------

They were arguing about something, Illya could not remember about what. He was so angry and irritated and his fist itched to sock Napoleon in his jaw. It will be futile, and only hurts his fist, but it will satisfy his inner beast. 

Almost automatically, he folded his arms in front of his chest, something he did as a cover when he wants to touch his soul marks to calm him down. He took a breath. He was now calm.

Napoleon stopped mid rant, his eyes darting to Illya’s right thumb that was not-so-secretly playing with his mark. When he raised his head, the look on his face was affectionate, making his soul mark tingled and his body warm, all over.

His soulmate made a cooing sound, making Illya’s fist itched once again, but before he could do anything about it, he was dragged to a tender kiss.

\----------------------------------------------

Clark can’t get drunk. And when he managed to out-drink Illya, when he was pretty sure the Russian drank vodka regularly like water, the other realized this and beginning to slur and curse in Russian.

“Really? Did you kiss your mother with that lips?” he recognized his mistake when Illya’s face changed, flushing in anger, this time, instead of drunkenness. _Ah shit._

“Sorry, sorry. I regret and take back all I’ve said before. Please don’t kill me? Even though technically, you can’t—“ his ramble was cut short by Illya’s kiss.

Napoleon sat ramrod straight on his chair, in the corner of the bar (so they can have a little bit of privacy), floored by Illya’s boldness.

“You apologize. Good. I forgive.” And snuggled deeper into Clark’s chest.

Gaby was laughing silently at them from the other side of the table.

\----------------------------------------------

They failed their task and the bad guys who did it escaped. The mission wasn’t over yet, but a lot of people had died.

Illya came to him and touch his chest lightly, right in the bond. It calmed him down a bit. "You cannot save all of them. You are not god."

"Say that to a few thousand people in the future who actually worship me as a god." He put his forehead on Illya’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of gun powder and the smell that was purely Illya. The Russian let him, surprisingly.

“Do you think humanity is ready for such thing?”

“Humanity was never, _is never_ , going to be ready. There’s going to be people trying to take the bad side of something good.” He drew back, straightened his suit and turned. 

“Always.”

He could feel Illya following him silently at his back.

\----------------------------------------------

“How does it feel?” Illya’s curiosity was getting to him, but he will not ask anything more to Cowboy (perhaps now Space Cowboy because of his heritage). Pride, or something else preventing him from doing so.

“What do you mean?” Gaby’s perfectly manicured hands handle her gun easily, dismantling and oiling her favorite piece.

“Having an alien—extraterrestrial being, for a soulmate.”

She hummed. “Same as other people. Once you bond, you just feel, “ she stopped to ponder her sentence, like searching the right word. “Whole.”

“You will die before he can even blink.”

She smiled sadly, head downcast. “I know. That means he’ll be there the rest of my life. I’m just sad that I won’t be for the rest of his.”

\---------------------------------------------- 

“You will not be able to die. You will outlive us all. Forever and ever, until you are killed.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Napoleon looks relaxed on the outside, but Illya could feel the wave of restlessness and reluctant acceptance from him.

“That is not a nice way to live. You will get reckless. Easier to kill by your enemy.” And he clenched his fist, irritated by the other’s answer. 

“Well, what would you suggest, Peril? I can’t even kill myself, believe me I tried. I draw my power from the sun, and the sun will still shine for a long, long time.” He blinked, as if realizing his mistake. “Oops. Should have _not_ told you that.”

The mention of suicide made Illya’s heart skipped, the soul marks throb with pulse of, if he was being honest with himself, fear. “I already know. From U.N.I.T.S and Torchwood.”

“Oh so then you already know what my greatest weakness is. Great.”

“That you cannot work in the night? _Da._ ” Napoleon gave Illya a look, but the Russian just gave him an innocent one in return (as innocent as a Russian spy could look).

Later the information from the anti-alien organizations’ archive proved useful especially when they deal with yet another alien race ( _how many aliens out there?_ )

It was Illya’s third encounter of weirdly face alien (the first one being the lizard alien wearing a black satin dress of all things, back on their mission in London, and the second one is some robot called Cybermen). 

This one had a fish for a face. He first disguised himself as undercover agent, but his cover was blown when Napoleon felt something off and use his _X-ray vision_. He cannot believe his soulmate had X-ray vision all this time. What else he could do.

The fish-alien screamed, producing something from a small box inside his jacket and stabbed Napoleon on his right shoulder with a Kryptonite knife. As the knife touched his shoulder, he began to weaken and fell down hard to the road. The knife drew a lot of blood. So much thick, red blood pouring out of the wound. Usually Napoleon just pull out and throw away the weapon, walking it off as if it was nothing but now he groaned in pain, screaming painfully when the fish twist the knife in the wound. 

Illya’s eyes widen in alarm, and he threw the fish off, thankful that it wasn’t as strong as other creature they encountered. It hissed at him, sharp teeth going for his neck to rip it off. He gripped his sword, the one Napoleon ‘borrowed’ from Torchwood, and chop off the fish’s head. Green blood poured out of the wound. It was disgusting.

Immediately, he went to Napoleon’s side, silently panicking on the inside and wanting to yank out the knife but fearing the possibility of more blood loss. Napoleon gasp, “Pull out. Heal.” He swiftly withdrew the knife, better fast, than slow. Ringing began to make him lost touch with reality but he centered himself to control it, taking deep breaths. Blood still pouring out and Illya’s heartbeat quickened. Napoleon might die from this.

He put the knife back into the box, uncaring of the blood seeping through the velvet cover. When he looked back, Napoleon was slowly losing his consciousness. Illya slapped him. “Do _not_ fell asleep on me, Cowboy!”

“Hm.”

He slapped him once more, harder, and this time Napoleon jerked. More alert. His eyes focused on Illya’s face, saw how determined he was and then he closed it. A few seconds passed and Illya looked down, the wound slowly closed.

“There. Can I pass out now?”

“No.”

Napoleon passed out anyway.

\----------------------------------------------

He was taking a stroll near the Empire State building, scouting for his current mission, when he met this weird guy. Colourful, overly long scarf wrapped around his neck. From that unusual outfit alone, and the sonic screwdriver in his hand (different, but familiar) Clark knew immediately who that was.

“Feeling for a nightly stroll, Doctor?” he gave him a smirk.

The Doctor startled, staring at him with wide eyes of his. This time he had a sharp nose, and fluffy, curly hair. “Um. Sorry, do I know you, lad?”

This time, it was Clark’s turn for a facepalm. “You don’t know me.”

“That much is obvious, yes. Hm. Maybe the right question is do I know you in the future?”

A confident smile grazed Clark’s lips. “Yes. Yes, you do. You even gave me this ring.” He raised his left hand, showing the Doctor his Janus ring. 

Realization came to his mind, “Wait. I might’ve just given you a spoiler. Sorry.”

The Doctor waved his hand. “No matter, more importantly….”

He ended up helping the Doctor again, this time clearing up the mess of one of his companion, who accidently woke up a colonies of Silurian, located underground of New York. After running around, getting kidnapped by pre-historic race of lizard, and Doctor accidently telling him his real name, they managed to push the Silurian back to the sleeping pod and activate it.

They were back, across the front gate of Empire State Building, standing in front of the TARDIS. “You are absolutely _not_ to tell anyone about my real name. Got it?”

“Not even your soulmate?”

The Doctor panicked. “How do you know her?” he threatened Clark with a sonic screwdriver. “If I see you even touch one hair on her head….”

Clark sighed. “Doctor, what are you going to do with your screwdriver? We both know it’s a _screwdriver._ ”

“Uh—“

“And Gaby is just my best friend. No need to get jealous.” He clapped the Doctor in his shoulder, then hug him in one arm, hoping to be reassuring. Which was the exact moment Illya walked out of the door of the building.

_Whoops._

Illya strode, really, really fast towards their direction with blazing eyes. He could see vein began to pop out of his neck, fist clenched at his side. “Doctor, you better get going now if you value your life. My soulmate is one territorial beast.” He shoved the Doctor towards the door, the other reluctantly walked in while giving him a stink eye as if saying _‘it’s not even my fault’._

“ _Ne ubegay, vy trus!_ Coward!” Illya shout.

Clark began to walk back, towards their HQ, knowing Illya would follow him. He did, as Clark could hear his big stride catching up to his. He felt the other grabbed his shoulder, making Clark looked at Illya’s clear blue eyes, filled with anger.

“It was the Doctor, yes? What are you doing with him? How did his police box disappear?”

“My, my. Can’t say jealousy looks good on you, but I like it.”

“Not jealous. Just curious how old, British phone box could end up here. And disappear.” 

“You call him a coward.”

“He ran.”

Clark gave him an amused look. “You ran as fast as you can, with murderous look on your eyes, after your eyes locked in on me hugging him.”

“Do not.” He looked away, a pout (that he won’t admit, definitely) on his lips.

“Must you be so difficult?”

“I am not. You are.”

_Well then…_

Leaning forward, Clark gave a quick but passionate kiss, earning a surprised moan from Illya’s lips. He then moved back, leaving Illya stunned on the road. Walking away with a smirk on his lips as if nothing happened.

\----------------------------------------------

“Sex is not necessary in bonding.” Illya said, as Napoleon cornered him near the bathroom cabinet as he was about to have a shower.

“I know, but it’s more enjoyable this way.”

Slowly, but surely, he lowered himself, trailing kisses and bite marks on Illya’s neck, chest, and hips. He smirk, vulgarly. Salaciously. As he took Illya’s long cock into his mouth.

And Illya could only moaned, losing himself in the tight, warm heat.

\----------------------------------------------

The brotherhood, that was led by a mutated human named Magneto, took him away. It was clear from the clumsy (but successful) plan that they were working without Magneto’s command. They were trying to do an experimentation of how to turn human into mutant on their own, leaving trails of bodies on their wake. 

Dimly, Illya wondered, his mind trying to distract himself from the pain, whether the man would be amenable to work for them instead, as the ability to control metal would be very useful in mission or war.

Faintly he could hear Napoleon’s voice, bursting in at the last stage of the experiment. But he was too late. By the time he shut down the machine, it was complete. 

Illya’s body felt weak, and he was getting in and out of consciousness. His soulmate screamed in rage, holding Illya’s body in his arm. His eyes were glowing red, as the beams of light came out of his eyes and obliterate the brotherhood’s hideout.

“No! Your identity—“ His breath heaved. 

“I let my father die, because he was convinced the world wasn’t ready. No more.”

Seeing Napoleon, serious and determined to get Illya safe out from the base, a contrast to what he ordinarily did…it was like seeing him in a new light. He wore a skin tight suit, this time, blue scale covering thick muscles, hiding extraordinary power hidden beneath. 

As they walked outside, he reached for Napoleon’s face, grasping it in his face.

“ _Moya dusha._ “ 

_My soul._

His vision went black.

\----------------------------------------------

This was it. This was the moment. Illya was dead, as the future told, and he was dead in his arms. Pain stabbed through his heart, and also on his soul marks. He could feel it already. How red seeping through the gaps of his mark. His instinct lied and it wasn’t forever. He should’ve known about this already. The future cannot be changed. His soulmate will always die. Illya will always die.

Janus signifies the end of his soulmate. All of his soulmates. How they always die and he will be left alone till the end. He should’ve known. 

_Red. Red. So much red._

He laid Illya down on the bed in the infirmary, and fell down to the floor. He was overwhelmed with the need to destroy. 

Everything. 

Everyone. 

It would’ve been easy. His strength, usually controlled, now coiled uneasily on his fist, waiting to be used. 

He decided not to.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya woke up in a ground. 

It was claustrophobic, as he was lying in a tight space, in a box and soon enough he realized he had been buried alive. He knew it won’t be long till the oxygen was all used up and he will die from lack of air, he punched through the wood, surprised that it gave away easier than he thought under his fist, and how it was not even hurt to do so. The soils surrounded him after a few more punch. Holding his breath, he crawled up, and managed to get himself out, chest heaving in pain, needing air. He brushed the dirt from his suit and pants, a nice pinstripe suit that might be of Russian’s brand.

How dare that mudak bury him while he was unconscious. He even had the nerve to dress him up. This was too far for a joke.

He thought he knew who his soulmate was. He might be mistaken. He was going to kill Napoleon (he knew he might not succeed, the man was unkillable. But he was going to try). 

\----------------------------------------------

When he arrived at the base, everyone stared at him with surprise, and some with fear. It was then he knew something was off. If Napoleon buried him alive, he will not do it with everyone’s knowledge.

His soulmate walked out from one of the room. And stopped. He stared at Illya, a long, uncomfortable stare of shocked and hope. “Illya?”

“Yes.” He shot Napoleon on the shoulder. 

The impact knocked him back slightly and he winced a little, as if in pain. But no blood came out of his bullet hole in his suit. Illya’s soulmate instinct was giving him hell for trying to hurt his half-bonded soulmate.

Napoleon quickened his steps and embrace him. So tightly in his arms that he felt Napoleon will never let go. This close, he could feel how Napoleon trembles; taking shuddered breaths beside Illya’s ear. “You burry me alive.” He said, in accusation.

“You were—“ Illya could feel him swallow. “You were dead. The soul mark went red and you were just….gone.”

Slowly, uncertainly, his raised his arms and embraced Napoleon back, unusually uncaring of other people staring at their direction. They stayed for a few minutes.

They found out later that now Illya had been turned into a mutant. He won’t be able to age, nor die.

\----------------------------------------------

He sat on his bed as Illya slept beside him, and he now he finally knew the meaning of Janus’s ending.

The end of his search of soulmate. The end of his loneliness.

\---------------------------------------------- 

“You should be happy. Now you can be with him forever.” Gaby said, happy for him but a little bit jealous. In a few years (or decades) she will be dead, and Doctor will be alone all over again.

He wondered if he should be. But when he thought about his new friends in the organization. About Gaby and maybe even Waverly. He did not think so.

“The life of the immortal is not as good as you think, Gaby.”

\---------------------------------------------- 

“Illya Kuryakin.” The man said, smiling widely at him, white teeth shown like a predator. “Welcome to the immortal’s club. I’m Jack Harkness.” He gestures at himself. “You already know the Doctor.” He then gestures to a man in his left. Illya frowned. This new appearance of the Doctor was not in any of the archives he broke into, nor look like the man that Napoleon hugged before. He scowled, remembering the details before, the beast inside him possessive of its mate.

He was wearing a black long coat, red on the inside, and white shirt. He had a permanent surly look on his face, and as his eyes flicked to Illya, and he knew the man remembered him also. On his left side, Gaby was drinking her coffee while not so subtly holding the Doctor’s hand in hers. She looked happy. 

Waverly sat on Jack’s right side, reading a newspaper with a cup of tea in one of his hand. He glanced at Illya. “Oh do forgive Jack. He tends to be such dramatics. I’m sure you understand, having Napoleon as your one.”

Both of the U.N.C.L.E agents seemed perfectly happy at having an extraterrestrial as their soulmate, and Waverly looked even more at ease here, beside his one, than what had seen before. His superior could feel his stare and raised one of his eyebrows, as if knowing exactly what Illya thought. “If you’re about to ask about me and Jack, and why I’m so comfortable with it, perhaps you should travel with the Doctor sometimes. Concept of gender and orientation won’t be such a big deal once you met ten foot alien with the entire galaxy’s gender combined on it.”

“And having sex with said alien.”

Doctor put his head on his hand. “Jack!”

“What? I’m just saying—“ thankfully Waverly cuts in before Jack can say more.

“Anyway, where is Napoleon? It was his and Jack’s idea after all. This triple date.”

Right after Waverly said that the restaurant’s door chimed. Illya turned around, his soulmate sense tingling.

His eyes immediately widened. Napoleon walked in wearing casual clothes. Far more casual than his usual one and with a fashion that that might be from his time in the future, Because Illya never saw anyone wearing that kind of fashion before. People were staring at Napoleon and he cannot help the selfishness that crept up, wanting to have this look of his soulmate for himself.

Napoleon wore a black and red plaid shirt, tucked in, fit to his body, accentuating his sculpted chest, narrow hips and perfect abs. He saw people wearing plaid shirts before, but it was usually as a pajama and not like….this. The American rolled the sleeves and Illya could also see the powerful arm, decorated lightly with dark hair, usually hidden behind the suit jacket. The collar was opened until the second button and he could see the chest hair, peaking lightly from it. He swallowed hard.

But the one that threw him off was the jeans. Napoleon he knew would’ve never worn the jeans, tight enough he could easily trace the line of his ass (when Napoleon turned to talk to the waiter about his order), and if he tried hard enough, his cock. The boots he wear underneath was unstylish, made to be durable, not fashion, but Illya had a feeling it was one of the expensive brand’s.

Someone coughed lightly and Illya snapped his eyes up, catching the amused smirk on Napoleon’s face. He had stubbles on his face, presenting him as roughish and sexy. He sat beside Illya. “Apologize, traffic.”

The Doctor looked at Napoleon in disdain. “Go. Be a sexy lumberjack elsewhere. That outfit are indecent. _You_ are indecent.”

“Aww thanks, Doctor. Didn’t know you had lumberjack kink before, but we found out new things everyday don’t we.” He winked at Jack. The other immortal laughed and respond similarly (with Waverly sighing, resigned that his soulmate cannot be controlled). Illya could feel the possessiveness rising from deep inside him. 

So he pinched Napoleon’s ass. _Hard._

Napoleon yelp. The lunch went on more smoothly after that.

\----------------------------------------------

“You….and Jack?” Illya was giving him suspicious glance since he spoke to Jack in the restaurant. He kept giving Jack one of his mistrustful glares, about to ask him something then seemed to think better of it. And now he confronted Clark when they arrived at their room.

“…..maybe.” he took a quick peak at Illya, wary of one of his emotional outburst.

Illya gritted his teeth, trying to keep his hands still from their spot on the table. “When?”

“At the start of the war.”

A flash of anger, and soon Illya was out of his chair. “My soul mark—“

“—is there. But we haven’t even met yet.” he shrugged, not getting the reason why Illya was getting so jealous.

Illya growled, and Clark let himself be pushed to the bed.

\----------------------------------------------

Napoleon never did suggest the full bond, even after a few decades they had been together. Even Waverly and Jack ended up with it, knowing Waverly would die and leaving Jack behind. When asked why Jack respond was, “It’s so I can keep him in my heart. Forever.” It was cliché and romantic and to be expected from a man such as Jack.

Doctor and Gaby, they didn’t fully bond. 

“Doctor, he…” Gaby said, white in her hair now from age. “He hates goodbye. That’s all.”

Illya’s friend was aging and here he was, still appeared as young as he was in the 1960’s.

When Gaby was on her deathbed, she was at peace with the knowledge of not meeting her soulmate for the last time. She gave an understanding smile to Illya, willing him to not blame her soulmate. 

They heard the TARDIS’s sound outside. Doctor, accompanied by Napoleon’s firm hand on his shoulder, witnessed the death of his soulmate. With a grunt of pain, he rolled his sleeve, filled with soul marks, tinted red. Napoleon looked pained. “Are those…?”

“Time Lord’s trait. The archive for the marks of my soulmate, tinted with blood and forever marked on my skin.”

He walked away, into the TARDIS, grim expression on his face.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya not used to someone being stronger than he was and now here he was, pinned on the wall of their classy apartment that they shared (handpicked by Napoleon). He was held with, perhaps suited to the real nature of the other man, inhuman strength. He tested the grip, and sure enough, he was not able to move an inch. They were kissing hard, tongue slipping between each other’s. Pulling out for a breath, Napoleon glanced on his scar beside his right eye.

“How’d you get the scar?” he suddenly asked.

“Orphanage.” He said with finality. Not wanting to talk about it. His past always was a sore subject for him. 

Napoleon tried to conceal his curiosity, but fail. Illya sensed it and he sighed. “Orphanage school for spy. Will not tell any more than that.” It was apparently enough for Napoleon and he smiled.

“You do not have any scar.”

His soulmate gave him a smile, just a quick upturned of his lips. “Healed up nicely. Remember that Kryptonite accident? You can even try to stab me right now and it won’t leave anything on the skin.”

“Why would I want to do that?” he gave Napoleon an incredulous look.

“Why not? You humans always get fascinated with weird, almost-supernatural stuff like that.”

“But it will hurt you.” He said it with confusion.

“Eh. It’ll heal.”

Illya wondered what it was, that made Napoleon talked about his death and his pain so easy. Easier than himself. But he supposed he knew the answer already. Immortality.

Napoleon traced Illya’s collarbone with his index finger, a bit distracted. “Tell you what. I’ll tell you some of my life story, from my perspective, excluding vital information that I don’t want you to know, of course. And you tell me yours, excluding the orphanage and any vital information you don’t want me to know, if you want. How’s that?”

Not a bad deal (Illya did want to know more about his soulmate’s past), but before Illya could refuse the deal, Napoleon began to tell him his story.

In telling his part of the story, Illya was not as calm as Napoleon. His regular tick appeared, and to distract him, his one began licking and kissing the scar, playing special attention to it longer than Illya usually comfortable with. But a couple minutes in he began to relax.

“Thank you.” Napoleon said, genuine smile on his lips. He kissed Illya’s jaw, moving down slowly towards his neck. His hands no longer pinning Illya but divesting him of his clothes. He did not even realize they were still standing by the wall.

Illya was naked now, clutching at Napoleon’s shoulders, covered in his white shirt. The buttons were opened and he still had his pants on, and this irritated Illya, being bare while his soulmate was more or less still fully clothed. Before he could protest, he was silenced with a kiss. 

He would be pissed by how calm his soulmate was if he could not feel the other, arousal thick and filled slightly with disbelief that Illya was still here with him. Napoleon slipped his thigh between Illya’s and with that slight movement the soft material of his pants rubbed lightly on his cock, a maddening pressure. And Illya need more. He spread his legs slightly and Napoleon understood the cue.

With a blink and whip of air, his one was back in front of him, grinning while squeezing a perfect amount of lube onto his fingers. “Show off.” Illya muttered.

Napoleon laughed, and kissed the corner of Illya’s lips. He put his fingers patiently even with the awkward angle, one by one, until he satisfied that Illya was ready. When they left, Illya bit his lips to prevent a whimper that threatened to come out. 

A mischievous smile on his lips, which was never good, Napoleon grabbed Illya’s thighs and lifted him up. Illya made a surprised sound, cursing in Russian, objection ready on his lips, as _he was not a thing that can be manhandled—_

He was entered in one thrust. Napoleon’s cock stretching his hole wide. A tight fit, considering how thick his cock was. They both moaned. Joint sensation filling their blood and all over their body.

The sensation intense even at the beginning. And Illya could not, would not, trade this for anything in the world.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya knocked his head on the wall, exposing this pale throat, usually covered in turtleneck. Clark, couldn’t resist and lick a stripe to his jaw while thrusting in earnest. His cock moved in fast pace, still in control as he was always afraid to hurt, even if his soulmate was now immortal. 

The room was silent beside their ragged breaths and the slick sound of movement of his cock inside of Illya. He loved it when Illya was like this, as he was more vocal in bed than anywhere else. His face was flushed, along with his chest and neck. Carnal pleasure evident in his blue eyes as he looked back at Clark’s, body moving in motion with his even pinned as he was. 

He locked his legs around Clark’s hips, one hand drawing Clark’s head in for a hard, wet kiss. The other stroking his cock to completion. Illya, that bastard, was biting his ears while whispering filthy things in Russian. He clenched his grip a little bit more in Illya’s flesh, sure that he will leave at least a bruise in the morning. 

Illya grunt, satisfied, clenching his walls around Napoleon’s cock. And that was it. 

Clark groaned and let himself loose a little bit, letting his strength fill a couple of his last thrust. He could feel the dual sensation from their bond, of fucking this gorgeous Russian soulmate of his and being fucked at the same time, feeling full and stretched to the brim. Illya was coming with a shout, fingers tightening in Clark’s hair, letting some of his curls fall down his forehead. Clark moaned, biting Illya hard on his neck (his soulmate probably will wear a turtleneck again for a couple of days). He came inside with a few additional thrust, making some of the cum to drip from Illya’s hole.

They both stayed like that for a while, trying to regulate their breaths and Clark leaned down after a while, kissing Illya sloppily on his mouth. 

He let his soulmate down, gingerly, one foot at a time, and forced his arm to stay still on his side, letting Illya to support himself on his shaky legs. He knew the other would be pissed if he tried to help.

They lay in bed, Clark’s head pillowed on Illya’s shoulder, the other’s arm sneaked possessively on his hips. Illya seemed anxious about something, unconsciously ticking the fingers of his other hand on the bed. “Penny for your thought?”

“We should bond.” He suddenly blurted.

Clark lifted his head to look at his soulmate better. “But we are bonded, my dear.”

“Not that. Meant full bond.”

Illya looked determined but Clark still had to ask. “Are you—“

“You want to ask whether or not I am sure.” He kissed Clark’s lips, tracing his tongue gently on the inside. “I am.”

Clark remembered that night as the night he permanently had Illya in his life. The bond was intense, leaving them both shaky and vulnerable (but whole. For the first time in his life he felt like he belongs). They spend the night in each other’s arms.

\----------------------------------------------

He sneaked into his father’s spaceship, after he made sure his other self was already out of it, bringing his soulmate with him. They travelled via air, him carrying Illya on his arm, slowing his flight just a bit for the benefit of the other. Illya was so stupefied that he was silent, still looking shocked all the way to the ship’s chamber.

When they arrived, his father’s AI was about to great Clark when it stopped, studying him intently.

“You’re my son, but not the son that I just met. I think…” he tilted his head slightly. “Time travel?” grinning at his son in conspiracy. Clark grinned back, nodding in confirmation. “I want to introduce you to someone.” He let Illya nervously come forward. “This is Illya Kuryakin. My soulmate.”

His father gave a surprised, but happy look. “When you were born I prayed to Rao to spare you the fate of your soulmate. Now I see he answered my prayer. I’m happy for you, my son.” He raised his arm, as if to hug Clark but let it down sadly. Clark touched his father’s shoulder anyway, even when his hand went through him.

They spent the time together, until Illya was shivering badly (in silent, not wanting to interrupt his conversation with his father).

Clark said his goodbye.  
\----------------------------------------------

It was 2013, and they moved to other continent altogether, to avoid the massacre on Metropolis. His promised to the Doctor keeping him from interfering.

(And letting his father die, again, for a second time, back on his farm house, when he was filled with homesickness and went back to his home town, just in time for the tornado to hit.)

(Illya held him through the night, as he was wrecked with guilt.)

\---------------------------------------------- 

“Alright, I want to tell you something, but don’t freak out alright.”

Illya frowned. “What? Don’t tell me you have another outer world crisis to attend to.”

“Er. No.” his foot shifted left and right and for a moment, Illya saw Clark Kent, the ordinary boy who grew up in farm. It was startling how different it was, since both of it was his soulmate’s persona. “I want you to meet my mother.”

He gave him disbelieving look. “You want _me_ to meet your mother.”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?” Napoleon put his hands on his hips, every bit a child insisting on his argument.

Illya sighed “I am not, what you call ‘sociable’”

“That’s okay, cause my mother is.”

Still, he tried to make Napoleon understand. “Your mother might not be pleased with me. She has lived though the cold war era.”

Napoleon walked to where Illya was sitting, setting aside the newspaper in his hands. “Please?” he said, as he gave one of his powerful pleading look, knowing Illya was powerless to them.

“Fine. _Da._ If you insist.”

\----------------------------------------------

They were at the door, Martha Kent welcomed both of them with an open hands. Napoleon shyly told his story (not all of them) to his mother, and about Illya. He looked different in here. Softer. Less jaded. When she turned to look at Illya, he gave her an uncertain smile (even knowing it was more like an eerie grin than a smile.) She gave Napoleon a look. 

“Clark, I see you haven’t taken a proper care of your soulmate.”

Illya quickly assured Martha, his hands almost flailing in consternation. Napoleon’s mother laughed, and she assured Illya that she was joking. They were absolutely related, despite his soulmate not being her biological child. Illya relaxed after that.

In the Kent’s house Illya felt like he had family again. He was helping Martha prepares some food, Napoleon’s arm on his hips while he talked to his mother, when Kara, apparently Napoleon’s biological cousin arrived. Behind her he could see a boy, with appearance similar to Napoleon, and a red haired girl, who looked surprised when she saw whose hand it was that sticks on Illya’s hips.

Illya scowled. His soulmate had too many conquest.

Kara was giving him the stink eyes but quickly warmed up when she saw his interaction with Napoleon, even so much as giving him a thumbs up when Napoleon was not looking. Conner, the boy, was apparently Napoleon’s clone from another dimension.

Illya closed his eyes for a while. All this time travel, alternate dimension, alien _fignya_ was starting to hurt his head.

After that, they had dinner. It was so domestic. He did not think he will be having one of these moments again, so late in his life.

\----------------------------------------------

Clark determined that he was too old, literally, to actually feel jealous, but he did, as he saw Illya interacted with Conner. They both had a common interest in antique motorcycle, with Conner talking excitedly with animated hands and Illya nodding in concentration. He was about to interrupt, hugging his one from behind or kissing him senseless when Lois arrived, taking Conner’s hand in hers, smiling happily at Clark as he got a glimpse of her soul mark near her elbow.

\----------------------------------------------

They slept in Clark’s old room, they bed too narrow for two grown man so Napoleon hug him as tight as he can. But it was summer and hot as _ad_ so he elbowed the other on the bed. “ _Otvyazhis',_ Napoleon. It is too hot. Go away.”

“Don’t be such a grumpy guy, _moya lyubov'._ Enjoy this rare sharing of heat and tight spaces.” He kissed the back of Illya’s neck. Turning back to face Napoleon, Illya gave him a curious look. “You know many languages. How many you know?”

He had a faraway look, pondering about it. “I don’t actually have to learn other languages, since TARDIS will translate everything for me but I guess I want more hands on approach when I deal with people. So…” he began counted. “Probably about ten or fifteen. Why’d you ask? Do you want me to sing you a lullaby in Ancient Greek?”

“No.”

“Or talk dirty in Ancient Rome? Believe me a lot of their words are dirty.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “You are impossible. Your family is downstairs.”

“So? They know I’m with my soulmate. Soulmates did a lot of things when in bed together.”

The Russian sighed, knowing there was nothing that could prevent Napoleon for getting what he wanted. “Suit yourself.”

Illya found that keeping quiet when having sex with Napoleon was impossible. He tried anyway.

\----------------------------------------------

In the end, they got a wind of another colony of Kryptonian. Where a lot of Napoleon’s people still lived, flourished in their small, far away planet. 

“You will go, yes?”

They were lazing on the couch, Illya sitting with a book on his hand, Napoleon’s head pillowed on his thighs, running his fingers though the soft, curly hair. “I’ll probably visit, in the future. If I’m bored enough.”

“You are certain? These are your people.”

Napoleon snuggled into Illya’s stomach, his words muffled by the shirt but still clear enough for Illya to hear. “ _Humans,_ are my people. _You,_ are my people. I think I’ll stick around and not stay in some unknown planet with unknown inhabitants’ thank you very much.”

Illya hummed, running his fingers again with affection, content with his relationship and his life.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a long time since I’ve watched Man of Steel, so apologize if I wrote anything wrong. Hopefully not though. But I did change a few (lots of) things to fit it into this universe.
> 
> And, damn. Time travel story was a hard thing to make. You have to synchronize everything .So if you find some unsynchronized stuff, tell me. I’ll edit it.
> 
> Facts about fic :  
> *Homosexuality progress through time like usual, that was why Napoleon called Clark ‘Josephine’ (to others, and in his last words) because homosexuality wasn’t widely accepted back then. Men who has another men (or women who has another women) as their soulmate don’t really get the urge to mate or anything. The can choose to be close, platonically. But really, really close. Like best friend or family. However, once they bond (halfway or all the way. Not through sex) they will be unable to hurt each other intentionally.
> 
> *It’s going to be hard to find soulmate just from the mark that could be hidden anywhere, so when soulmate got close, sometimes they can sense each other. But not always, and not all soulmate can sense each other before the bond. Usually, only the strong potential bond can sense each other, the strongest can pinpoint the other’s presence.
> 
> *Background story of Illya’s scar and Napoleon’s ring :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TL-hLWLjfdE (MfU interview)
> 
> Clark’s known soulmate :  
> *Archimedes – died 212 BC  
> *Julius Caesar – died 44 BC  
> *Ono no Komachi – died 900 AD  
> *Leonardo da Vinci – died 1519 AD  
> *Napoleon Bonaparte – died 1821 AD  
> *Illya Kuryakin – died 1968 (around the time The Brotherhood was active), reborn as immortal mutant
> 
> Russian words :  
> *ne ubegay, vy trus – do not run, you coward!  
> *Mudak – asshole  
> *Fignya – bullshit  
> *Ad – hell  
> *moya lyubov' – my love
> 
> \----------------------------------------------
> 
> Hit me up if you wanna chat : @harukaryuumao


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